Naming the Unnamed
by Riverjem
Summary: Have you ever thought about all those hundreds of men who weren't of the Fellowship who fought in the Battle of Helm's Deep? Few do, and this story follows the hardships of one man who found himself in the midst of everything, whether he wanted to or not.


Pretext: A man falls off the wall and crashes into the ground when the explosion rocked the strong hold (in the movies at least). A valiant hero saves the life of another, and together they face the oncoming wall of orcs. But who ever notices these men who fought just as willfully as those who the book centers around? Does anyone morn for those who lost their lives? Rarely, for they think "poor little filler character... oh well. Ooooh! look what Legolas is doing!" and they move on with their lives. This story follows the adventures of a young workman who found himself in the midst of everything during the Two Towers. So please, do give it a shot!

The young man swung harder, his muscles straining to finish the job that had drawn on for an hour longer than anticipated. A continuous stream of loud cracks echoed through the small corner of the land as he thrust his ax further into the wood, his callused hands barely aware of the handle that ground mercilessly into them. His ax caught on the wood and he gave it a tap on the stump beneath, unleashing the blade and he gave one final swing. With a satisfying _thump_ the wood splintered obediently in two and toppled onto the ground, and the man picked them up and tossed them mechanically into the pile: it had been a long day.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a tattered sleeve, his mouth dry and his throat aflame in the bitter cold that slid down it. It was with an almost joyous pride that he knocked on the door of the man who had hired him and motioned to the sizable pile of neatly stacked wood. The elderly man nodded with little expression on his face when he went back inside, returning with a small leather sack worn from years of use. From it he pulled one small gold piece and held it before the face of the young man, letting the tainted surface catch half-glimpses of the fading sun. "_If_," he said, his old voice rough and curt, "_If_ you promise to do this well next time, this will be your payment for this day. It is only proper for your effort."

With elderly but firm hands he forced the piece into the palm of the latter and left him, closing the door to his house with slow deliberate moves that his age allowed. Surprised but not disappointed by this extra payment, the young man placed the piece in his pocket and walked to the stump, prying his ax from the wood and headed home. His spirits soared for a few moments as he thought of the gold piece, enough to buy a few chickens for a decent dinner that his family had not had in what seemed like ages. He thought of his only boy, threateningly thin but with a light spirit that never failed to bring his father joy.

The young man took a deep breath of the crisp spring air as if challenging it with boastful inhalations to burn his lungs, to bring his mood down. He looked to the west and saw the sun sinking behind the tips of the Misty Mountains, the last few drops of sunlight drenching the land in an orange glow. It was beautiful as it warmed his heart for a few moments before the last sliver of the day vanished behind the peak of the mountain, and for a moment it was not so bad being a working man. He heard the voice of one of the King's men yelling in the distance, but he only wondered vaguely what new order was being sent out. For now it would not damper his spirits. He would not let it.

But there was suddenly a great calamity around him as people jogged past, rushing to their houses with a great desperation splashed upon their faces. The young man looked around with confusion, not sure what to make of the events that unfolded themselves quite violently beneath him. He caught the arm of a man that he recognized as the one who had hired him a few weeks ago as he passed with a bundle of supplies in his arms, and asked what was going on. "It has been decreed by the King! The King is alive again!" he said, bittersweet tones ringing in his voice.

"What has been decreed? Is there something wrong? Pray, do tell!" said the young man, an unaccounted frustration welling up at the questions left simply brushed off by his hasty answer.

The much older man looked upon him with a pity as one would to a lamed dog, his head shaking slightly though the bundle held before his face made it difficult to do so. "We are to leave to Helm's Deep at sun break tomorrow. The king has declared that we all pack food and other such things. You are not to take worldly possessions…" his voice trailed as he regretted his last comment, the memory of passing the young man's tiny house with that small, terribly small boy playing in front with rags sown for clothes…what worldly items would they have? He left the young man with an awkward nod as he hobbled down the path to the stables, leaving behind a crushed soul.

The young man looked to the ground as the very light of day seemed to dim at this news, the once golden joy drowned by the darkness that quickly engulfed his heart. He tried to swallow past the choking lump that formed in his throat as he started homewards at a slow jog. On the very brim of town, the small structure that had become frail and weak in the past storms, standing like a lone soldier, beaten and crushed after a great battle. The young man walked up to this and tossed his ax impersonally to the side as he opened the door, his heart lightening slightly when he saw his wife and child. His spouse was sitting on the chair that he had made a few years ago, mending a sandal with thick needles and a leather string that she pressed into the soles with dexterity. The small figure of a child was rocking back and forth on his heals as he watched with patience beyond his years, passing the time till father arrived.

"Papa! You're home, you're home!" exclaimed the little five year old as he crossed the small distance to the door, latching onto his father's leg with surprising strength. His father picked him up and tossed him easily into the air a few feet, catching the giggling little one and hugged him close in his arms. His short curly brown hair smelled lightly of fruit. The young man set down his son and concluded the usual ritual of arrival, walking over to his wife and kissing her on the cheek. She was so young as well, little more than twenty but her eyes were weighted down with years of worry and hardship. She put down her work and stood up, hugging him with passion that had not waned since their marriage despite their troubles.

A slight tug at his leggings signified that two large green eyes were looking up at him expectantly. The young man pulled away from his wife and kneeled down to look at his son, who started dancing in place with a large smile spanning his little face. "Papa, I picked cherries today! Picked cherries!" he said as he grasped his father's hands and pulled him over to the table where the bucket usually used for the well sat, filled with bright red cherries. The little boy pulled it off the table and hefted it into his hands, his cheeks red from the small exertion as he lugged it over to his father and held it up for him to see. "Mr. Rammlen let me pick cherries. He said 's long as I can reach them, I could have 'em. Look! I filled the bucket! All on my own! Filled it up to the top!" he let the bucket drop to the ground when his little arms started to tremble from lifting the burden for so long.

His father smiled halfheartedly and lifted the bucket back up to the table, picking out a cherry and handing it to his son who picked off the stem and popped it into his mouth. But the smile faded quickly when the boy went off to his bed with a handful of cherries, munching contentedly on the bright clusters. The young man turned to his wife, his voice wishing to form words to comfort her, but what came forth was what he loathed the most. "Linbrien, my love…" he said as he hugged her again, cradling her head as he pulled her close. "We must leave. The king is alive and well since The Wizard spoke to him, and he has chosen for us to leave for Helm's Deep in the presence of war." She broke away, her eyes brimming with worry once more. She gave a nervous glance at her son whose lips had been stained a dainty crimson color and had proceeded to play with his wooden sword. The young man drew her glance to him and he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It will be all right…I will make sure nothing happens to him. This will be better than staying here to wait for the brunt of Saron or Saruman's army to raid the land. Come, we must pack in what hours the time has to offer."

And so his wife walked away to the small chest in the corner and drew out the two small packs and filled one with wraps and blankets (most of which were worn and plagued with holes) and the other with salted or dried meats and breads. The end result was two meager sack filled with all they had to bring: a light burden to bear.

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed this much, and yes, I do intend to continue it later if I get decent reviews. Also: I did some research and the average marriage age from the twelve to fourteen hundreds (around the time era LotR was based) was around thirteen to fifteen, so yes, Linbrien's age is more or less accurate. So don't flame me, please.

P.S.: I perposefully left the "young man" unnamed. So please review and tell me what you think!


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